TRAVERSE 48
of air … Up, up the long, delirious burning blue I’ ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or ever eagle flew – And, while with silent, lifting mind
I’ ve trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
Back down the mountain twisties we rode, opening throttle wide on the plains to chase the rest of our group. We regrouped short of Juliaca as the evening gloom settled. The tidy tarmac ended, and an unruly dirt road begun. It was a wild ride through a contraband war zone, dodging potholes and concrete lumps, with unregulated intersections crowded with trucks, pedestrians, donkey carts. It set me up for all that was to follow.
I survived Juliaca, I can ride anything.
The border post into Bolivia involved paperwork, inscrutable officials, and an hour spent staring at a dog sleeping in the middle of the road as customs closed for lunch. If only we knew then that it was nothing, a mere two hours of bureaucracy.
We rode our motorcycles up a narrow ramp onto a wooden ferry to cross Lake Titicaca. My partner, Alan, made me take off my helmet to improve my chances of swimming in the freezing water should we capsize or sink. Did I mention his day job is assessing risk?
We reached La Paz at sunset. The city lies in a ravine, unseen as you arrive on the altiplano. We darted about and lane split to make progress in the peak hour traffic. A driver in the car next to me opened his door- I swerved but couldn’ t miss the vomit he hurled onto the pavement. Curses in my helmet.
La Paz is an unexpected highlight of our tour. We left the bikes in safe storage and took the cable car down as the city emerged from hiding around us, lights and buildings clinging impossibly to the steep slopes, alive with a mass of people and music. The following day we would ride the Death Road; the most dangerous road in the world.
Beyond La Paz, we visited Potosi, famed for a hill of silver, and the Salar de Uyuni where we posed for silly photos. The people paraded and danced in the streets, the scenery was beautiful and riding the ripio road was fun. Bucket list. Tick!
At tiny Ollague, where the volcano puffs gently, we crossed into Chile.
The travellers curse struck at San Pedro de Atacama. A handsome young doctor was called. I mimed my symptoms, and he asked me questions in Spanish. The confused charade went on for a bit until I men-
TRAVERSE 48